


Warm Blooded

by phantomreviewer



Series: Gorgon!Grantaire [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris was beautiful; golden and white and imbued with men and monsters, with the past and present. It was the city which called Grantaire home. It was busy and bustling, and nominally warm enough for even his cold-blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Blooded

**Author's Note:**

> A self-indulgent sequel to Snakebite and Black, set a few weeks to a couple of months after the conclusion of that fic.

Grantaire had grown complacent in the mild Autumnal weather. Paris was beautiful; golden and white and imbued with men and monsters, with the past and present. It was the city which called Grantaire home. It was busy and bustling, and nominally warm enough for even his cold-blood.

This led him to becoming complacent, his jacket was thin and his snakes were content in unfurling and basking over his shoulders soaking up the last rays of autumn as he walked. There was nowhere to go until evening, and everywhere to be.

And then the weather turned.

The sensation of the clouds falling over the sun was a visceral one, calling a shudder to Grantaire but he only had a moment to accustom himself to the dip in the temperature before the rains came. It wasn’t the mild summer rain which darted across the sky as easily as it came and brought about mild drops of warmth; no it was the rain of dark winter evenings, whipping winds and a sudden chill in your bones.

The crowds scattered, hands and newspapers flying to protect human hair. The sun had been shining out hours earlier when Grantaire had decided to take his constitution, and had nothing to shield his snakes from the tempestuous weather.

His snakes stilled on his head, curling and licking around his ears in a plea which Grantaire could already feel in his bones. The dormant cold would settle in soon and a chill ran deep through his bones. He felt foggy, and still. He needed to sit down.

The first pattering of hail had him running.

The Café Musain was nearest, and with it crowded. With human and preternatural taking shelter from the turn in the weather. It said something for how despondent and damp Grantaire looked that people didn’t automatically part before him, instead standing close enough that the heat of the crowd faintly bled through his frozen exterior. He didn’t need to sit, would have been content to stand as part of the masses, but he was willing to fight his way to the bar for a drink. Whiskey would be as much of a medicinal aid as it would a comfort. If his stomach burnt then his blood might boil and he might be able to feel his fingers and sense his snakes again with the warmth.

He had just approached the bar, his head swimming like fog, when the counter was flipped nad he found himself tugged into the backroom. He should have noticed Hucheloup’s fierce grip on his shoulders, but his vision was clouded and his blood was cold. He was lethargic and tired and the backroom was as comforting as it was familiar.

It seemed smaller without the assorted Amis within it, and it felt colder than he knew it to be. There was a blanket wrapped about his shoulders, and his tightened his grip around the gentle weave gratefully. On his head his snakes were worryingly still, cold against his scalp instead of true neutral; there being no difference between the temperature of scales and flesh. They ought to be one and the same. He didn’t look down to see what the thermometer in his mouth was reading, it had happened so quickly. From Hucheloup tugging him into the secluded silence of the backroom, to thrusting blankets and thermometer in his direction. He thought that he’d managed to stammer his thanks, but he wasn’t sure.

She had nodded at him, just once despite her brisk nature turned back to her crowded café. She was a harpy hidden under her long skirts, her talons clicked across the titled floor, and it had taken months for the two of them with their animal instincts to settle into an uneasy friendship; Grantaire’s open wallet helped to lubricate their interactions. It had been solidified by the simple act of standing and almost casually removing his sunglasses after sly comments had been made at the counter about how it must be unsanitary to have feathers involved in the production of food.

It was no surprise then, once he had thawed enough to consider it, that she looked out for him in her way. Her affection for Les Amis was known, despite her apparent frowns at their tendencies. It was a surprise however, that Joly arrived an indiscriminate amount of time later. It may have been ten minutes, or it could have been half an hour. Grantaire focused on the silence inside him and the noise without, and tried incredibly hard to remain conscious and not fall into becoming dormant. It was too hard to wake up from his dormant state unless it had been prepared for. Despite the creeping warmth, his eyes felt heavy.

Later he would find out that Hucheloup had called the number left with her to contact Les Amis if needed, but at that moment it appeared as though Joly arrived out of providence as much as planning, and then he was suddenly in the back room, clucking over him. Professional to the last.

Not even donning gloves so as to take the temperature of his snakes on his own skin.  It was testament to how cold the snakes had become that they did not move, hiss or object to being gentle probed and poked by brave, shy fingers. After a rudimentary examination, which Grantaire was too cool to grasp the intricacies of he felt something warm across his forehead, like standing under the hot sun on a breezeless day. How Joly had managed to bring about a warm hot water bottle, gentle enough not to cause his snakes to overheat, Grantaire did not know, but it balanced across his head. Objectively, far away in the side of his mind that was active, Grantaire was aware that he looked a fool; wrapped in a hideous blanket, thermometer between his teeth and hot water bottle balanced perilously across his snakes. But Joly was concerned and not laughing, and it was too warm and content to begrudge his appearance.

Despite the concern in Joly’s eyes, he was smiling. His personal as opposed to his professional smile, content to fill the small space and the silence with stories of Bossuet’s latest misadventure, of the cat which was hanging around the back of the surgery – which Joly was sure that one of the training anesthetists was sneaking food to – of the latest government survey on the standards of living for non-human persons. Grantaire didn’t join in the conversation, but he smiled and he laughed where necessary. He felt warmer than he had before.

It was inevitable that Enjolras would arrive, shaking rain from his coat as he ducked under the bar and joined them in the small room. Grantaire was still groggy, finally shivering and snakes finding the strength to curl around the cooling hot water bottle on his head, but he turned to Enjolras as though he was the sun.

Enjolras moved smoothly, with no break in the action as the stepped forward, casting a momentarily smile in the direct of Joly before reaching up with his warm, human hands. One hand cupped his jaw, searing like fire, and Grantaire is too cold to be embarrassed about fractionally nuzzling into the gesture, while his other has sunk his glorious warmth into the mass of lethargic snakes.

They stir idly around Enjolras’ hands and Grantaire has never loved him more.

“You should stay warm Grantaire,” the reprimand is soothed by the gentle rubbing of Enjolras’ thumb against his cheek, and Grantaire’s slitted eyes fall closed.

In the gentle self-imposed darkness Grantaire feels the hot water bottle, grown tepid, be removed and someone – it can only be Enjolras - tenderly gather the unnaturally cooperative snakes into an approximation of a bun. As he opens his eyes, the hand on the cheek is removed from Grantaire’s face and instead is used to doff the hideous knitted creation off Enjolras’ own beautiful hair. For a moment Grantaire wants to object, he is already damp and cold and Enjolras is warm and dry, but the objection dies on his tongue as Enjolras tucks his snakes under Enjolras’ own hat, pulled low over Grantaire’s forehead.

There is no hissing or writhing, and Grantaire is slowly becoming warm enough to worry. When he’d been younger, more tempestuous and angry about the state of things that could not be changed he had cared less about his own wellbeing. Young and foolhardy, angry and seeking an outlet for something that human words could not contain. Some of his snakes still bear the scars of missing scales and decolourisation from being treated badly in the cold. It had been an easy means of release, the cold made him numb and less susceptible to his own thoughts. It hurt though. He tried to stay warm these days. He almost feels truly human with Enjolras’ warmth bleeding into becoming _theirs_. He almost knows that it doesn’t matter whether he is human or not when Enjolras smiles. He smiles like the sun.

Enjolras’ hands on his face again, rubbing warmth back into the cold-blooded flesh. And Enjolras doesn’t look at all embarrassed as the tender action, one normally reserved for privacy. Rubbing patterns of heat into his cheeks and Joly, having clearly decided that the situation is not as dire as it could have been, is no longer fussing but instead has his phone out and his unsubtly turning the camera in their direction. Grantaire will have to ask for the photos once he’s suitably himself again.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t find a picture of a gorgon (surprise) or even a snake with a hot water bottle on their head. [But nonetheless I have a cute reference picture](http://previews.123rf.com/images/cole123rf/cole123rf1007/cole123rf100700102/7456093-english-bulldog-puppy-with-hot-water-bottle-on-head-with-reflection-on-white-background-Stock-Photo.jpg). And I now know a lot about how to deal with pet snakes during powercuts.


End file.
